Door of Dread
by Wondo
Summary: Terror in a darkened room. Peter and Neal struggle for their lives.
1. Chapter 1

A/N This story's scenario was requested by a friend.

Door of Dread

Chapter 1

Neal Caffrey spent an uncomfortable hour confined in the back of a delivery van. Blindfolded, handcuffed from behind the back, he sat slumped and dejected. His apprehension, focused entirely on his partner's predicament and whereabouts, distracted him from his own discomfort. Refusing to even contemplate an escape scenario, he was determined to verify Peter's location.

The van eventually pulled up in front of a decrepit, abandoned warehouse facility somewhere on the outskirts of the city. Neal, pulled roughly out of the back of the vehicle, was forcefully shoved through the front entryway of the two story building. The two men escorting him took pleasure in causing his stumbling over cartons and assorted debris on the floor. When he fell to his knees or bumped against the men, his captors enjoyed pushing him back and forth between each other.

The trio proceeded through an old reception area once housing the customer service desk, sales offices, and administration. They passed through numerous hallways, bypassed the corridor that led to the receiving and shipping dock, and headed for the stairway leading to the second floor. The entire building was strewn with trash, old liquor bottles, cartons, and pallets highlighting years of neglect. A foul smell of decay permeated the structure. Neal, his senses distorted, felt nauseated and disoriented.

Unaware of the staircase looming in front of him, the FBI consultant tripped on the first step and landed heavily on his side.

"Thanks for the warning," muttered Neal, as he was jerked upright and shoved forward.

"Be careful Caffrey," laughed one of the men. "If you're not careful, when you get to the top of the stairs, you could fall backwards."

"Watch it, Joe. Don't push him down the stairs," warned the older of the two guards, who Neal knew as Roberts. "O'Reilly wants him alive. Maybe for the vendetta he has planned for the fed."

"I wouldn't want to be Burke, that's for sure," replied Joe shaking his head. "He's going to use him to even the score for his time in Marion and Florence."

Neal knew the man responsible for his captivity, Timothy O'Reilly, had formerly been released from ADX Florence. The most secure prison in the country, Peter had referred to the supermax as the "Alcatraz of the Rockies". A Colorado federal prison designed with the highest security measures, it was known as the "cleaner version of hell." Prior to his transfer to Florence, O'Reilly had been housed at the US penitentiary at Marion, Illinois. The prison had been exposed for violent abuse of the inmates after several security guards were knifed and killed in separate incidents. The newspaper coverage had described the use of beating, food deprivation and stun guns on prisoners. A number of the inmates incarcerated there were later transferred to Florence. Sinking in despair, Neal understood Peter's life was in grave danger.

One day earlier, Peter and Neal were investigating the case of stolen art works and jewelry from the Jefferson Art Center in Queens. They had received a tip from an informant that a possible link to the robbery could be verified by questioning a former security guard named Matthew Roberts. Waylaid by the gang of thieves upon arrival at Roberts' home, there had been no warning of imminent danger. Roberts had invited them inside and mentioned his suspicions of certain art center employees. With Peter writing down information for verification, several men had appeared from behind and assaulted the agent as Roberts pulled a gun on Neal. Disarmed and security monitor removed, the agent and his consultant were quickly moved to a holding area near the waterfront district.

After capture, Peter and Neal discovered, to their chagrin, that O'Reilly had been the mastermind not only of the Jefferson robbery but of the several heists preying on traveling jewelry salesmen attending trade shows. Pulling up behind unsuspecting salesmen in the parking lots, one of the gang members would shatter the driver's side window while accomplices would smash open the back window and grab the suitcases holding the gems. Although millions of dollars worth of jewelry were stolen the items would eventually be fenced for a smaller percentage of their value ensuring quick profit.

The O'Reilly crew of four men had been working undetected for several months. Having amassed a considerable amount of money they were now determined to safeguard it at all cost. The lives of law enforcement officials were of no value to them. Timothy O'Reilly had already, in no uncertain terms, made known his hatred of federal agents. He had spent yesterday afternoon arranging transfer of his operation to the abandoned warehouse facility while offering veiled threats about Burke's welfare. Early in the morning, with no explanation, Peter had been removed from Neal's location and relocated to the new facility. Neal had been anxious to be reunited with his partner.

After reaching the second floor, the thugs and their captive proceeded down several hallways originally housing additional administrative support, HVAC systems and reserve storage. Neal assumed the men were intentionally circling the same passageways to confuse his bearings. How was he to find Peter in this maze of corridors if they weren't placed together?

Suddenly, one of the men clapped his hand on Neal's shoulder and shoved him to the left. They must have entered a side room, because Neal heard O'Reilly's voice a short distance away.

"Well, now we have our second prisoner with us," said O'Reilly. "Glad you could join us, Caffrey. Take him down the hall and place him with Burke for the time being. I'm sure he wants to see his keeper." He motioned to a fourth man in the room. "Hey Johnson, follow them down and remove Burke's cuffs," he ordered the junior member of his group.

Within this group of criminals, Neal had only experienced a modicum of ease with Johnson. Younger than the other captors, this ex-felon seemed to harbor no ill will toward the prisoners. At the holding location, while O'Reilly had been absent, it had been Johnson who offered them some meager food and water. Although Johnson seemed surprised about Neal's status as a fed's confidential informant, he uttered no disparaging remarks or engaged in rough treatment of either captive. He had kept himself aloof from any caustic words and physical manhandling.

Propelled back through the doorway and guided down the hall, Neal had to struggle not to stumble as the men quickened their steps, eager to be finally rid of their burden. Proceeding about fifty yards, the men stopped; Neal heard them opening a heavy door. Shoved forward and yanked to a stop, he felt his handcuffs removed.

"All right, Caffrey. You can take the blindfold off now," said Roberts.

As Neal removed the cloth binding from his eyes, he looked around in trepidation. His gaze took in a large, filthy room devoid of furnishings. In the sparse light, against the far wall, he spied Peter, handcuffed, lying in a fetal position motionless on the floor.

"Not yet," he was instructed as he struggled to move forward, Roberts adding, "It seems your friend had a scuffle with O'Reilly."

Held back by Roberts restraining arm, the consultant watched Johnson kneel down by the agent and remove the cuffs from behind his back. As the young gang member backed away, Peter began to stir, and the captors left the room.

"Peter!" Neal rushed to his friend's side. He slowly turned Peter over on his back, wincing with dismay as he saw the bruised and bloody features of his mentor. Barely conscious, the agent cringed at Neal's touch and attempted to pull away.

"Hey, it's me, buddy," he quietly reassured the injured man, restraining him gently. "Just hold steady. I'll get us out of here," he promised.


	2. Chapter 2

Door of Dread

Chapter 2

Peter opened his eyes and gasped in discomfort. His dark hair, moistened with sweat and blood, laid plastered against his head. There was a large open gash on his temple, his lower lip slit open. Gritting his teeth, he tried to sit up but was stopped by the acute pain that flooded his midsection. "Neal?" he muttered, dazed and confused.

"O'Reilly use you as a punching bag?" questioned Neal, hoping to elicit an answer and gauge Peter's mental awareness.

"You…you should see his con…dition," stuttered Peter, trying to create some dignity. "We had a free…for-all."

Kneeling on the dirty floor soiled with blood and remnants of old trash and discarded papers, Neal carefully lifted Peter to a slumped position, using his own torso as a backstop. Hands trembling with outrage, he held his friend and envisioned the defenseless agent's beating.

"We'll get them, Peter. O'Reilly will be put away for a long time."

Peter's labored breathing slowed under Neal's care. He offered up a ghost of a smile. "How did you talk them into moving you here?" Sighing, he momentarily closed his eyes.

"They decided to keep us together after all. You're not the only one who warrants preferential attention."

"I don't think you'll like the accommodations."

The agent paused for short breaths. "Check the door, Neal, see if you can get it open." He nodded to himself. "They don't know… about your many talents. Try to contact headquarters and bring back help."

"Sure, Peter."

Gently lowering the man whom he had allowed into his life, Neal stepped to the entryway and carefully surveyed the door for defects. Verifying it would take him a short time to gain his freedom, he was dead set against leaving Peter alone, fearing to move him in his injured condition. Peter was unable to maintain an upright position, his breathing labored, mouth tinged with blood. What serious harm would ensue if he tried to move his friend out of the building?

Peter was showing evidence of broken ribs and a possible head injury. He was experiencing pain, shortness of breath and confusion. Moving him any great distance could cause greater damage to the lungs, spleen or blood vessels. Neal's minor knowledge of first aid reminded him that a person needed to be stabilized and moved only in a severe life threatening condition. Had they reached that point yet? He needed to slow down and analyze his options.

How had the situation turned so deadly? They had set out to investigate a minor art museum robbery. Now, Neal found himself struggling to keep his friend alive. No. There was no way he would leave this room without his advocate.

Neal returned to Peter's side. "I can't seem to unlock the door; I'll need some time to work on it."

Peter didn't question his findings, an indication how dazed he was. Neal carefully loosened and removed the agent's tie, unbuttoned his collar and draped his own suit coat over the injured man.

Peter pushed the coat aside, murmuring, "I'm hot, Neal. Please, raise me up."

Neal positioned himself against the back wall, slowly pulling his friend up against his body. Groaning, weak coughing triggering severe pain, Peter laid the back of his head against Neal's chest.

"This isn't the scenario I pictured when I sprung you out of prison," he tried to joke. "Thought one day you'd need me, to protect you, from one of your disgruntled victims."

Neal attempted a smile, looking down at his friend. "You were so serious and gruff that day I left the supermax in your custody. You had no problem letting me know my place. Thought I was going to run."

"You've kept me awake plenty of nights trying to second guess your moves. No wonder I look so old."

The door to their prison opened as Johnson came in carrying some bottled water. He placed it by their side as Neal looked up at him and pointed at Peter. "Burke needs medical care. I can make it worth your while," he whispered. "What do you want? Money, jewels, immunity…"

The young man glanced down at the injured man. "Your offer is tempting. But…I won't help you."

O'Reilly arrived in the doorway, pistol in hand. "Well, what a nice picture." He moved closer to his prisoners, "You really _are_ tight with the feds, Caffrey."

Neal felt Peter stiffen, his heartbeat and breathing quicken. He tightened his grip on his associate and held his rage in check. "Pretty easy to hurt a defenseless prisoner. Wasn't that your problem in Marion?" Neal's eyes blazed with anger. Regardless of O'Reilly's gun, this time he would attack the man if he came within close proximity of Peter.

"You should have been here earlier. The fed pleaded with me to stop," taunted the gang's leader. "Maybe I should show you how to handle special agents. Or maybe I should test your own self defense training. Burke certainly didn't do so well."

"Neal," quietly said Peter, subtly warning him not to continue the conversation. He didn't want O'Reilly to turn his anger on his associate. He had learned first-hand the abuse the unstable senior felon would execute.

"Yes, _Neal_. You better listen to your custodian," countered O'Reilly. "I'm sure you're kept on a short leash." Neal held back his retort. He sensed Peter's apprehension.

O'Reilly turned his direct gaze on the agent. "You know I'll be back for you. We haven't finished our lessons." Glancing at Johnson, he motioned him out the door. "Let's go."

As soon as the door was shut, Peter closed his eyes and took short, raspy breaths.

"Neal, will you hand me some water?"

Neal reached down, opened the bottle and placed it in Peter's hands, helping him lift it to his mouth. "Take it slow and easy. It's better to just moisten your mouth," he cautioned.

Peter swallowed a few sips, trying to stop his coughing. It was evident he had internal injuries. Pain from broken ribs and a partially collapsed lung intruded in his mind. He knew he wouldn't be strong enough to escape with his consultant. He was having trouble focusing his thoughts as a feeling of nausea overwhelmed him. The air in the room was beginning to feel suffocating; the fetid smell of decay assaulted his nostrils. His vision began to fade out.

Neal observed his friend's distress and watched him slip into unconsciousness. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration, trying to slow down his racing thoughts and plan a viable strategy out of this nightmare.


	3. Chapter 3

Door of Dread

Chapter 3

The one feeble overhead bulb in the dirty room seemed to grow increasingly dim. A skylight in the ceiling stopped casting light. Evening was approaching. The stagnant air in the room seemed to become increasingly foul. Peter had been drifting in and out of consciousness, reassured for the moment by Neal's presence. Neal had been content to provide his friend an illusion of security.

Suddenly, with a spasm of pain, his partner startled awake. Lightly coughing, he became alert and anxious. A tremor passed through his body as he gestured toward the entryway.

"Did I hear someone come in?" questioned Peter.

"No. There's been no one here," Neal answered.

"What about that door, Neal? Have you checked it again? Given it another try?"

"I will. Just let me ponder some of our options." Neal was uncertain about their prospects. He wouldn't leave Peter alone and he was afraid to move the injured man.

"You don't understand. You're in danger too. O'Reilly will be back soon. He's playing a head game with me, attempting to build more apprehension."

Neal was puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Before you arrived, he came in this room several times." Peter hesitated to continue and clenched his fists. "Each time I had to stand with my back against the wall. He'd get his jollies knocking me down and the slower I got up the more he'd kick me down. It was a race against time, he said. I guess I failed the game… because he always returned to let me try again—" He stopped.

"Peter…" Neal hesitated before continuing. "I'm sorry."

"I keep hearing that door open." The agent's voice was husky with emotion. "Neal, I don't think I can play that game anymore. He may start on you. You need to get out of here."

"The door's pretty secure. There must be another alternative."

"I need you to promise me something. Will you prop me against the wall?"

Neal quickly shifted his weight and with tender care repositioned his friend, holding him securely. Peter looked at him, brown eyes clouded with pain.

"I want you to watch over Elizabeth for me. Be there for her when she needs help."

"What are you talking about, Peter?" asked his associate.

"If I don't make it out." The injured man stopped for a moment. "I know you'll do the right thing."

Neal shook his head. "No. We're getting out of this together. Remember? A partner has your back."

"Promise!" Peter, insistent, grabbed Neal's arm and confronted him, his gaze unyielding.

Neal locked eyes with him. "Yes," he promised him. "I will."

As they were speaking the heavy door to the room swung open, slamming into the opposite wall.

O'Reilly and Joe strode toward them, pistols in hand. They moved to the center of the darkened room and smiled at the two men.

"I've been thinking," spoke O'Reilly as looked at Neal. "Maybe you need to learn who your enemy really is. It's the one who can place you behind prison bars." He paused for effect. "Burke and I have unfinished business. Before you got here Caffrey, the fed and I were having lessons about respect." The thug glanced at Peter. "Isn't that right, Agent Burke?"

Peter remained silent; Neal bristled with hot anger and fear. He struggled to speak in a calm voice.

"I believe I know my enemies," Neal remarked as he slowly stood up and calculated the distance between himself and his adversaries. "And respect is earned not coerced. But you wouldn't know anything about that."

"Slowly move away from Burke," O'Reilly commanded with a wave of the gun.

Neal didn't respond.

"I don't plan to kill him right now, but if you don't get over in the corner of the room, Joe will shoot you in the leg and then I'll shoot Burke. You can watch him die."

"Move away Neal," ordered Peter softly.

Neal was sickened with inability to remedy the danger. O'Reilly was disturbed and unpredictable. How should he proceed? He backed slowly away, choosing to temporarily follow the instructions. Joe moved to his side, weapon carefully out of reach, trained on his torso.

The senior felon stepped within close proximity to Peter. Pointing his gun at the agent's head he first carefully observed Neal, looked away and asked, "So Burke, ready for another game?"

"I thought we were done for the night?" Peter remarked bitterly. "That's what you told me earlier."

Observing the agent intently, O'Reilly answered with a sarcastic chuckle, searching Peter's face looking for fear.

Peter held himself taut, steadying himself for an anticipated attack. Seated propped against the wall, his hands tightened with a white knuckled grip of the floor. His main worry was Neal playing the hero and getting himself killed. "I can't play your game, anymore O'Reilly," he replied with a quiet, firm voice.

O'Reilly viciously kicked Peter's leg, causing the agent to withdraw his leg, close his eyes and choke off a cry of pain. Peter struggled to hold himself upright, his weak body failing to maintain balance. Slumping to the floor, he waited for renewed torture. Having made peace with God, he was sorry Neal had to watch his death.

Neal cried out for the man to stop; the criminal paused and directed his attention to the corner. He observed Neal, who had paled visibly and shifted forward. Joe moved closer, slamming Neal violently against the wall, pinning him by his shoulder.

O'Reilly smiled. Glancing back at Peter, he hesitated. "Okay Caffrey, I have a better idea. I'll let Burke alone for the evening. Let him rest while he anticipates our next meeting. Then I'll start on you." He crouched down and grabbed Peter by the shirt front tightening his grip, eyes narrowed with hatred. "Want to spend some time together in the morning?"

Opening his fist with exaggerated movement, he slowly released the agent. As Peter warily looked up from the floor, O'Reilly glanced down at his hand with disgust, wiping it off on his pants leg. He turned and started toward the door, pausing just as he reached it.

"Oh. Have a good night," said O'Reilly as he stepped out of the room with his assistant, closing the door with a slam.

Neal hurried to Peter's side, kneeled down, placing his hand firmly on his shoulder. He hoped the simple power of touch went deeper than words. He knew the gesture was small but it was his way of communicating respect and comfort.

"I have to take the chance in moving you. We're going to wait a few hours, and I'll get that door unlocked. We'll find somewhere to hide in this large building."

Peter didn't acknowledge him. He was fighting to catch his breath and control his varied emotions.

Neal reached down and lifted his friend, supporting him against his own chest. He leaned back against the wall. Peter struggled for several seconds pacing his breathing with short, shallow gasps of air. As he continued to fill his lungs with oxygen, Neal's thoughts flashed back to scenes of his handler tenaciously arguing for Neal's acceptance within the bureau or accepting him in his home.

_There's no way I am going to let this man die, _he promised himself.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, story alerts and favs. They're greatly appreciated.

Chapter 4

Quietly stepping across the threshold, Neal eased slowly back into the room where he had been confined. Glancing at Peter's form on the floor, he was dismayed to hear his friend's loud breathing intermingled with wheezing sounds of distress. Crouching down, he scrutinized the agent. Peter was lying on his back, head resting on Neal's pillowed suit coat. Hands were tightly clenched at his sides, his eyes closed.

"Peter?" questioned Neal. "How're you doing?" He didn't receive a reply.

Neal quickly put his hand on his friend's forehead. It was hot and sweaty. "Come on Peter, look at me."

The older man turned his head away from contact and did not respond. Neal became apprehensive.

"I need you to open your eyes and look at me," he whispered with desperation, lightly shaking the weak man. "We're getting out of here."

His friend, groggy and exhausted, slowly turned his head and peered up at Neal. "Did you find a way out?" he asked, voice slow and halting.

Neal shook his head. "It's so dark in that corridor, Peter. I can't tell where O'Reilly and his men are or which direction is safe." He bit his lip in concentration. "Our best move is to find another room to hide you in until dawn. I scouted one out. Let me help you get up."

Neal didn't want to move his friend. He was concerned he would inflict additional damage to Peter's injuries. The fear of their captors returning, to further torture the agent, necessitated the risk. Neal couldn't rid himself of the thought that any unnecessary movement would make any internal bleeding worse.

"Do you want me to carry you or do you think you can stand?"

Peter offered up a small grimace. "Charles Atlas you're not," he weakly muttered. "Just help me up slowly and we'll walk."

Neal got to his knees and lifted Peter to a sitting position, trying to ignore his friend's gasps of pain. With one arm tightly held against his ribs, Peter placed his other arm over Neal's shoulder. Neal supported Peter's body, and they both struggled to an upright position. With the younger man striving to hold most of Peter's weight, the two men ponderously stumbled to the open door and made their way down the blackened corridor. Neal headed blindly down the hall, following twists and turns, counting the doors he passed on his prior search. Several slow, excruciating minutes later, he felt they had covered enough safe distance from the room they had occupied.

Neal opened a door on the right side of the corridor and pulled Peter inside. Hastily shutting the door he half dragged, half carried, his friend behind some broken furniture. There was enough moonlight coming from a skylight to inch his way in amid the debris.

The massive room appeared to be piled high with cartons placed on top of each other, empty pallets in large stacks, discarded lumber propped against the walls, tangled electrical cord and rows of old technical manuals. Two corners of the room contained discarded desks and broken furniture, abandoned in a haphazard manner. Paper lay strewn on the floor under inches of dust. A pungent odor of rotting food, rodent droppings and urine permeated the atmosphere. Hoping the environment would repulse unwanted visitors, Neal had chosen this room for concealment.

Peter took stock of his location. Eyes widening in surprise, he looked at his partner with disbelief. "_You_ chose this room? Don't complain to me about hotel lodgings again!"

"Let's hope the wretched conditions work in our favor," he remarked, suppressing amusement. Lowering Peter to the floor, Neal's smile faded as Peter cried out in distress.

"Neal," he wheezed. "I just can't move any further." His pain was now unrelenting. Agony from broken ribs flooded his thoughts.

"That's all right, Peter. We're staying here. In a couple of hours I'll go for help."

Hearing his painful, shallow breathing, Neal asked quietly, "Would you rather sit up or lie down?"

"Uh, I don't think it matters… pull me up." Again Neal positioned his friend against him.

"I don't think I've ever felt so tired," the agent said. "Not even during those all-night stakeouts you put me through."

"Peter, you loved the chase." Neal's voice was tight with false bravado. Abject worry and fatigue was affecting his speech and thought process. His ability to con had dissipated with O'Reilly's last visit. The agent was fading away right before his eyes. He considered leaving Peter right then and blindly making his way to the outside. Fear of being discovered and prevented from summoning help, held off his departure. He knew it was best to wait an additional hour or two to make his escape. He couldn't rid himself of the worry that while gone, their enemies would discover Peter's new location and exact vengeance. The idea of leaving him to face them, alone and gravely injured, was abhorrent.

"Why don't you get some rest," he advised his mentor. "I'll keep watch."

"As soon as you can navigate safely, you need to head out," answered Peter. "I'm okay right here." The agent continued, "This whole scenario was flawed. I don't know what I could've done to prevent our capture… I keep going over it in my mind, but the pieces don't add up."

"Does it really matter?" asked Neal.

"Yeah it does… to me. If I screwed up and put us in this danger—"

Neal shook his head. "You didn't screw up, Peter. And no one's to blame." The young man offered the agent a rare confidence. "I trust you with my life. You have the sharpest intellect and intuitive knowledge in the division." He paused, "How else did you capture me, not once but twice!"

Peter was amazed. Neal offering him a verbal compliment, he must be gravely injured. "Practicing my eulogy, Neal?"

"Pet…er" he drew out his name. "It would take me weeks to come up with enough favorable thoughts about you. I can't spare the time, so we'll both be back to the bureau tomorrow. "

"Sure... You know," Peter's voice weakened with fatigue, "I think I'll try to get some rest. Do you mind taking the first watch?"

"No, not at all. I'm still somewhat wired," replied Neal.

After only a few minutes, he felt Peter's body relax. The older man's head tipped down and rested against his chest. His tense hands loosened against Neal's legs. Peter was drifting into unconsciousness. The younger man prayed the agent would find some relief from unrelenting pain.

Neal knew the office would have initiated an intensive man-hunt for them, but what were the chances anyone would know about this warehouse. O'Reilly was laying low. The bureau wouldn't have a clue where to search. He knew O'Reilly had them cleverly hidden.

Neal needed to get access to a phone and summon help.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Neal spent several uneasy hours waiting for dawn. He had settled in, hunkered down against some broken furniture. His main responsibility, keeping Peter in a semi-upright condition to ease his partner's breathing difficulty. Peter alternated between stretches of motionless unconsciousness, frightening Neal with his stillness, to moaning and talking incoherently. Neal's compassion was aroused whenever Peter stiffened with anxiety, muttering O'Reilly's name. He was sure his friend had not covered all the details of torture in his captive's hands.

Peter stirred again, becoming restless. Neal tried to tighten his hold around the agent's arms. Peter was returning to a semi-conscious state. "Neal," he whispered. "I heard the door open."

"No Peter," assured the young man. "No one's come in. I can see the door, it hasn't opened." He looked toward his partner with concern.

"He's here, Neal. I see O'Reilly. You need to escape." Peter struggled to move away from his perceived foe and push Neal toward some illusion of safety. Neal tried to carefully discourage Peter's thrashings and reassure him. The agent became limp with fatigue, reliving his early hours locked alone in the warehouse.

_Peter, blindfolded and handcuffed, was pushed for the first time into the empty room. O'Reilly removed the blindfold as he turned the agent around, facing him directly. "Okay Burke," declared his vindictive nemesis, "now it's just you and me. No one here to interfere with us."_

"_What do you want, O'Reilly?" asked Peter. _

"_You'll find out soon enough, fed. For a long time I've wanted some payback for what you do to prisoners. You're going to see what it's like on the other side of the barbed wire." _

_Peter knew he was in a deeply precarious situation. The felon didn't care he wasn't the one responsible for past mistreatment while incarcerated. O'Reilly had placed him in the role of all corrupt, abusive federal correctional agents. Peter slowly began to back up. As O'Reilly smiled at the apparent apprehension, Peter immediately changed direction and threw his body sideways knocking his captor to the ground. As the criminal fumbled on the dirty floor, the agent charged the door turning the knob with his hands cuffed behind him. The effort failed as O'Reilly reached him and threw a violent punch to his face. Several more blows followed knocking him to the ground. As his captive kicked him repeatedly in the side, Peter instinctively positioned himself into a fetal position._

"_You fool. If you managed to get out the door, Johnson's down the hall with a gun. Get up Burke," ordered O'Reilly. "It's time to play a game. You're going to learn all the rules."_

_Breathing heavily, in pain from the repeated buffeting, Peter pushed his way up to his knees and haltingly rose to his feet. _

"_Now I want you to stand against that back wall," directed O'Reilly, as he shoved his prisoner backwards._

_Peter stood with his back by the wall. The felon blocked his way to the door, smiling at him with hatred. The muscular, tall, solidly built man rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and stared at his bruised captive._

"_This is the game the guards had me play in Marion. I'm sure you're familiar with it. You have to stand at attention against that wall at all times. That's the rule. No matter what happens, you understand?" he asked. _

_Peter looked confused. "I'm not familiar with it. What're the rest of the rules?" he asked bitterly. _

"_That's it," replied O'Reilly, as he proceeded to strike the agent repeatedly in the face and stomach. Peter fell to the floor and before he could react he was viciously kicked, hearing the man chuckle, "you're not following the rules." _

_Peter struggled to his feet, desperately clutching at the wall with his bound hands. Three more agonizing times O'Reilly knocked him down and he struggled to get back up on his feet to avoid the additional blows. Weakened and barely keeping himself upright by leaning against the wall, he finally felt himself sliding down to the floor._

"_Okay Burke. We'll take a break for a few minutes," said his enemy. "But I'll be back soon. You can think of all the times I faced those guards."_

_As Peter heard O'Reilly's retreating footsteps and the door closing, he was too weak and disheartened to even glance toward the room's exit. His body bruised and bleeding, the pain radiated from his chest and midsection. He was at the mercy of a disgruntled, disturbed con intent on enacting vengeance. He couldn't see any way out of this nightmare. _

_After an hour of lying on the soiled floor, Peter slowly eased his pain-wracked body up to a kneeling position. Attempting to stand to ease the discomfort of his bound hands and get circulation back to his legs, he heard the prison door open. His vindictive captor had returned. Peter couldn't stop the fear that flooded his body._

"_I see you're feeling better, Burke," goaded his torturer. "Ready to play the game again?"_

"_Would it matter whatever I answered?" asked the discouraged man._

"_Probably not, but you can try."_

"_No, I don't want to play the game," answered Peter._

_O'Reilly's response was to rush forward and knock the agent down with a vicious blow to the side of his head, the man's ring opening a bleeding gash. Peter, feeling the blood ease down his face, tried to scramble to a standing position. He had gone through survival training at Quantico, but nothing had prepared him for a cat and mouse scenario. _

"_You did pretty well that time, fed. I didn't even have to make you get back up," replied the surprised hoodlum. "I've seen other men ask for mercy by now."_

_The agent didn't answer. He was becoming disoriented and nauseous. _

"_Burke, have you been to Florence?" O'Reilly asked. Peter shook his head. "I was sent there after Marion. Maybe you should see what it's like! The entire cell is made out of poured concrete even the bed. The food's hand-delivered through a slot in the door and no prisoner ever sees another human being." O'Reilly paused and collected his thoughts. "Did you know the walls and plumbing are sound proof so no one can communicate. You spend 23 hours in your cell and the one lousy hour they take you down the hall there's a window only four inches wide with a view of just the sky or the roof. You know what they call the whole environment?" Peter didn't reply. "Sensory deprivation, but I call it torture. Most of the men lose it after awhile."_

_O'Reilly took several steps toward him. "So you have it pretty good in this cell."_

"_Stand up straighter with your back to the wall," demanded his foe."Peter attempted to comply. O'Reilly just stood there as the minutes ticked by, watching for any sign of weakness. When the agent lightly shifted his feet to maintain balance, O'Reilly again pounced. The bully struck him several times in the midsection pushing him down to the floor. This time Peter wasn't able to rise quickly so he earned several additional kicks to his back. He felt the man lift him up by his suit coat and belt, slamming his shoulder into the wall. Peter quickly tried to position his body upright. He felt his arms and hands betray him as they shook behind him. Gathering the only defense open to him, an impassive face, he locked his gaze with his torturer._

"_We'll play again soon. I'll let you wonder when I'm coming back."_

_His enemy left and Peter crumpled to the floor. In his exhaustion he brought his knees up, hanging his head down, trying to counter the psychological torment the man was utilizing, blocking it with mental escape scenarios. The attempt didn't work. He felt his whole body tense, waiting for the sound of that door reopening. His thoughts turned to the experiences of American POW's held in Hanoi. How had they coped?_

_This time O'Reilly waited two hours to return. Peter again scrambled up from the floor. His reaction time had slowed tremendously, his body experiencing increasing weakness. His tormenter crossed the room and confronted him. _

"_You don't look like the high and mighty federal agent anymore," he sneered. "In fact, you are a dirty, bloody mess. We're going to play the game one more time today and if you do well I'll leave you alone for the night. How about that?"_

"_Why don't we stop right now?" asked Peter._

"_Nice try but no." O'Reilly leaned in closer and Peter flinched. "Afraid of me, Agent Burke?"_

"_You have the upper hand."_

_The ex-con smiled. "Yes, I've waited a long time for some payback."_

"_I've never hurt you. I wasn't at Marion or Florence," Peter tried to rationalize. "I'm a federal agent, that's my job." _

"_Don't bother. Stand up straighter!" O'Reilly ordered. Peter struggled to comply. Again there was a standoff with Peter trying desperately not to move, and the hoodlum observing him intently for any sign of weakness. Several minutes passed as Peter tried to direct his thoughts away from his bodily pain and replace them with mental images of somewhere safe and serene. _

_His body betrayed him with a tremor of pain. O'Reilly moved in for the punishment. Peter backed into the wall and crouched for the anticipated attack. Tiring with the game, O'Reilly proceeded to punch his victim with harder blows to the body. Peter fell to the floor and didn't attempt to rise as the hoodlum nudged him several times with his boot. Peter heard himself mutter, "please…stop." His captor laughed and left the semi-conscious agent lying prostrate on the floor._

_After an indeterminate length of time, someone entered the room and turned him on to his side. Peter flinched waiting for the expected blow. Feeling handcuffs gently removed from his bruised and bleeding wrists, a few moments later he heard the soft voice of Neal Caffrey…_

"Peter, it's okay. Wake up. You're here with me."

Peter returned to consciousness lying against his friend in the location he now thought of as his "safe room". He remembered escaping down the hall to hide out until dawn. Neal was here and had his back. He had been reliving the past ordeal with his brutal nemesis.

"O'Reilly isn't here?" Peter asked, desperate for reassurance.

"No," replied Neal. "And he's not going to find us."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Neal was disheartened. He wasn't sure if Peter was cognizant of their present situation. In the past hour, his semiconscious friend had relived moments of torture at O'Reilly's hands. Peter's verbal outcries and thrashings had reenacted enough of the scenario for Neal to understand his partner's trauma. When the agent was lucid enough to converse with his consultant, he continued to ask Neal if the door was being opened.

"Peter," asked Neal, "do you understand we've moved down the hall? The darkness right now is our cover. They won't find us."

Peter shook his head. "I keep hearing noise. Talk to me Neal. Keep me awake."

Neal could sense his friend's accelerated heart rate, and hear his rapid breathing. He hesitated and asked, "Do you want to tell me what happened in that room?"

Peter paused and collected his thoughts. "It was the anticipation. Waiting for O'Reilly's return. With all my training and experience…he got to me." Still another pause. Peter words were softly spoken, laced with misery and doubt. "He got to me," he confessed.

"He would've gotten to anyone. How could you fight something like that? You stood up to him as best you could. Hey," he squeezed his associate's arm with reassurance, "Eliot Ness himself wouldn't have done better!"

Peter smiled. Neal never failed to redirect. Maybe it was a coping mechanism he needed to explore for himself. He tried to force his body to relax as waves of pain surged through his side and mid section. Controlling his breathing with small inhalations didn't alleviate the discomfort.

The earlier blow to his head had opened a gash that throbbed with intensity. Peter realized he was experiencing spells of mental confusion. He felt unsettled, unaware of his location during intervals of detachment. He suddenly worried Neal would hesitate to escape knowing his partner was in such a vulnerable state.

"Eliot Ness wouldn't have gotten himself into this situation." He paused to catch his breath, "Neal, you need to go for help. Can you see your way clear yet?"Peter lifted his head and looked up at Neal. "One of us has to get out of here and that person is _you." _

The younger man nodded. He gently eased the agent down to the floor and placed his suit coat under his head. He stood up and carefully shuffled around the room looking for anything he could possibly use to keep Peter propped up. In the feeble light it was difficult to distinguish any usable material from the broken furniture and discarded debris. Finally he came across some torn, stained seat cushions and carried them back across the room.

Lifting Peter's head and shoulders upright, he positioned the cushions under his neck and upper torso. Peter gave a thumbs up, waved him away and closed his eyes. In a feeble attempt to disguise the vulnerable man's position, Neal pulled large broken portions of old desks from the immediate area to surround Peter. He glanced back down at his friend before he left.

Sprawled in an awkward position, lying on the concrete floor in a foul environment, the federal agent gasped for breath. His clothes disheveled, shirt and suit coat splattered with blood. His face was bruised, streaked with dirt and blood, hair matted to his head. One arm lay protectively across his ribs, the other arm outstretched on the floor with fist-clenched. Peter no longer appeared the strong, self-sufficient, law enforcement officer.

Leaving his friend in a fetid room, alone and hurt, possibly open to further abuse, tore at Neal. Reaching down, Neal clasped Peter's arm for a short moment. Softly whispering, "I'll be back," he headed out the door.

Peter opened his eyes within minutes of Neal's departure, alert for any apparent noise coming from the direction of the entryway. He feared the inability to discern sensory reality from illusion. He knew the door would open.

XXXXXXXXX

Neal inched his way down the darkened corridor. There was barely enough light to see a few feet in front of him. He remembered the general direction from which he had arrived, but there had been a number of hallways to maneuver through, one flight of stairs to descend. His sense of direction had been distorted by the blindfold; his captors had careened down the hall shoving him from one side to the other. His overall fatigue from lack of sleep and worry was playing havoc with his normally acute perception.

After passing over seemingly endless feet of passageway, strewn with discarded rubble, he found the stairway to the first floor. Neal's thoughts returned to Peter. How long would it take for the gang to check on their captives? Once discovered missing, it wouldn't take much effort to locate one injured man hiding down the hall. His partner would suffer vindictive retaliation.

Neal rushed down the stairs stumbling over discarded liquor bottles. One slid loose, rolling a few feet, clattering against a stair post. He froze and listened for repercussions. After a few minutes of silence he continued on with his flight. He by-passed the area leading to the receiving and shipping dock and searched for the administrative area. It had taken him well over half an hour; daylight was approaching faster than he anticipated.

Eventually reaching the front door, he threw back the bolts, fleeing into the deserted yard of the abandoned warehouse. The conman stopped, dismayed with his discovery. An isolated stretch of land lay before him, dotted with apparently empty buildings. There was not even a vehicle in sight! What were his alternatives now?

XXXXXXXXX

_Peter was back in his original prison room. Turning on his side to ease the pain, he heard the door creaking open with slow, steady force. By the time he glanced up, O'Reilly was standing over him scowling with distaste. Demanding, "Where's your informant," the man bent over him ready to continue a physical assault. Peter had no means to defend himself._

_He shuddered, awakening with a painful start._

The special agent had been dreaming again, vivid images and sound resonating in his mind. He couldn't identify how much time had passed. Looking around with apprehension, he immediately noticed the beam of a flashlight playing over the floor and walls. The noise of the door opening, in his dream, had been actual reality.

Someone stood in the entrance intent on investigating the room. Peter tried to control the volume of his breathing, but his raspy wheezing seemed to echo in his ears. The sound of footsteps hesitated a few feet from the entrance, stopped for a moment and continued around the corner toward the barrier Neal had erected.

As the shadow of an individual took shape, the agent recognized the man. Taking comfort in the fact Neal had escaped he closed his eyes for a moment and awaited retribution.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Neal glanced around the deserted landscape. He stood a moment to get his bearings. He knew O'Reilly and his gang would have a vehicle hidden within a short distance of the warehouse. Which one of the abandoned buildings contained one? There were several prospects.

Stumbling in his haste over old shipping pallets on the grass, Neal glanced at his watch, trying to control his panic and focus on his mission. The longer it took to find transportation the more inevitable would be the outcome. Their absence would be discovered, Peter would suffer the sole brunt of retribution, resulting in slow death by O'Reilly's hands. Physical and emotional fatigue swept over him, drowning him in remorse at leaving his advocate alone to face a disturbed ex-con.

The consultant hesitated at the first dilapidated structure. Should he return to the warehouse and carry Peter out? Face O'Reilly together with Peter, sharing the outcome? Attempt to move the agent downstairs, barricading themselves in the dock area? Follow Peter's instructions to bring back authorities, ensuring the capture of dangerous criminals? Neal knew what Peter's protocol demanded. He, himself, never felt obligated to abide by such standards. He knew his partner needed medical care; he decided to continue with a desperate search for a vehicle.

Neal opened the door, stepping into a large area that once had been divided into two large storage rooms. Part of the roof had rotted away and collapsed. The floor was littered with particle board pieces, 2 x 4 studs, torn sheetrock and empty spray paint cans. Graffiti and peeling paint added dashes of color to remaining wallboard. Vandals had long ago ripped out salvageable copper tubing and wiring. He turned away in disgust and ran to the next large adjacent storehouse.

Overgrown with bushes, thorns and waist high weeds, the front of this ramshackle building was inaccessible. Neal forcibly unlocked a side door and stepped inside. The interior had been gutted, debris littered the floor, and roof rafters were exposed and cracked. However, in the rear of the vast room, he immediately noticed the gang's two hidden vehicles. The van in which he had arrived and a smaller pickup truck were parked side by side. The rear of the structure had two bay doors not visible from the warehouse lawn. The building had originally been used as an additional garage on the premises. Neal had hit pay dirt.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Back in the warehouse, Peter's eyes opened as he heard the man in the shadows step forward and pause next to him, kneeling down by his side.

"Where's your sidekick, Agent Burke?" asked Johnson, the youngest gang member. As he reached his hand toward the injured man, Peter stiffened and tried to draw away.

Realizing the agent was anticipating a physical assault, Johnson withdrew his arm and sat back. "I'm not going to strike you," he attempted to reassure the man. As Peter's eyes narrowed in distrust, Johnson was affected by the older man's confusion and disbelief. Johnson raised his hands in a sign of surrender.

"I just work with O'Reilly; I'm not one of his stooges. Where's Caffrey?" he asked the agent a second time.

"Gone," Peter admitted. "He'll be bringing back the authorities."

Johnson ran a hand over his face and smiled. "I thought I heard a noise and decided to check it out. That corridor's still pretty dark but accessible. When I saw your room was empty I figured you were both hiding out somewhere close by." He looked Peter up and down, noticing his perspiration, gray pallor, visible injuries and glazed eyes. "I knew you wouldn't be able to travel far. I just wasn't sure your friend would leave you." Johnson shook his head in amazement. "He _is_ your friend, right? A federal agent and released prisoner working together."

"Caffrey's my CI," Peter quietly replied, frowning in discomfort, struggling to pace his breathing. "He's in my custody."

Johnson's gaze took in Peter's attempt to conceal his physical weakness and pain. "No, Agent Burke. I've seen you two together. It's more than that. You care about each other. Earlier, he was ready to offer me any incentive to get you out of O'Reilly's hands."

"Then you're willing to negotiate a deal?" asked Peter.

"What are you offering me?"

"If you help me I'll do all I can to minimize prosecution. Caffrey's gone and out of your control. It's just a matter of time before the SWAT team arrives."

Johnson looked away in amusement. "You don't realize our location. It'll take some time for Caffrey to bring back help. That's even if he finds transportation. Do you know we're in a very isolated area?"

Although unsure about the accuracy of the young man's information, Peter felt himself sinking in despair. He tried a different tactic. "You don't know Caffrey." He paused. "If you're an accessory to a federal agent's murder the bureau won't stop in tracking you down. You'll never get away. They won't hesitate to shoot to kill."

"Threatening me?"

"No. Just… giving you the...facts." Peter closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts. He was beginning to have trouble putting coherent speech together. The symptoms of vertigo and nausea were threatening to overwhelm him. He had to stay alert; he knew his survival depended upon convincing Johnson to cooperate.

Opening his eyes, he struggled to focus on Johnson's face. This man had yet to mistreat him or show overt hostility. Maybe he had a chance at survival. "Think it through, Johnson. I'm giving you an opportunity to make things right. Cooperate with me and come out of it with minimal or no jail time."

"Forget it Burke. I won't be an informant!" retorted his opponent. "I'm not taking any chances ending up dead in prison. You don't know how many old acquaintances O'Reilly has." Angrily pushing away sheets of paper that littered the floor, Johnson leaned closer to Peter.

Raising his voice, his shoulders stiffened, he added, "I'm getting out of here while I can."

As Johnson started to edge backwards, the agent reached out and grabbed his sleeve, movement bringing him multiple stabs of pain. "Wait," he said.

Letting go of Johnson and turning over on his side, Peter used his arms as leverage, attempting to sit up. The pain was excruciating. Grasping the right side of his ribs with one arm, he used his right arm to bring himself to his knees. With an agonized oath he began to buckle back to the floor. Johnson caught him and eased him back to the cushions.

What are you trying to do?" asked Johnson.

"Stop you… from turning me over to O'Reilly." Peter replied, barely hiding his trepidation.

"No," Johnson shook his head. "I won't do that to you. I'll get my stash of money and head out before the others are awake. If you're lucky, your friend will get back here in time before the two of you are discovered missing."

Peter swallowed several times, gritting his teeth, answering with anger. "You don't think your friends will hear you leave? Come looking for answers?" He glanced away in dismay. "And how far do you think you'll get before the authorities pick you up? You don't stand a chance."

"Well then, it seems we're playing with the same odds. Right?"

Peter bowed his head in defeat as he recognized the truth of Johnson's words. A play of emotions crossed his face. After a brief moment, lifting his head, he looked him straight in the eye and said, "I guess we are."

A heavy silence followed. Overtaken by feelings of remorse, Johnson regretted being so blunt. It hadn't been necessary to point out the agent's hopeless position. He stood and backed up. "I'll make sure they don't hear me leave." He resignedly shook his head. As he strode toward the door he stopped and turned. "I can't do what you want."

As Johnson quietly left the room, Peter slammed his fist against the floor. Anger flashed in his eyes as he sank back in despair.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Sorry this chapter's late. I took a weekend trip to NYC. I even had time to see some White Collar filming landmarks! This story's final chapter will be posted later this week. Thanks again for all the reviews.

Chapter 8

_Peter was held pinned against the back wall by two of O'Reilly's men. They were holding his body upright since he could now no longer stand on his own. The thug named Joe seemed to take particular pleasure in forcibly twisting his right arm. O'Reilly stepped closer to the agent, intentionally pausing to heighten the expectation of assault._

_Hatred distorting his features, the malicious criminal reached forward and grabbed Peter's shirt front. "Your informant seems to be missing, Burke. Where is he?"_

_O'Reilly tightened his grasp on Peter, moving his hand in a viselike grip on his neck with steadily increasing pressure. The agent remained silent, he could barely breath. "I asked you a question," he demanded, anger flaring. _

"_He's gone for help," Peter choked out. "The authorities will be here soon."_

_O'Reilly released his hold, stepping back, chuckling. It was a cold, calculating sound. "You think so? I wouldn't put much hope in that." He smiled smugly at his two henchmen. "Hey Roberts, why don't you tell our prisoner what really happened to his friend."_

"_We found him trying to hotwire one of the trucks. I was ready to kill him right there, but I knew the boss would rather take care of him," he callously explained. "Now he's down the hall in his own room. This time we made sure he won't escape. It's really a shame he put up a fight; he doesn't look too good right now."_

_O'Reilly motioned to his men. Pulling Peter up higher against the wall, he was hard pressed to keep a moan from leaving his lips. As pain blinded him, he clenched his teeth to keep from crying out. _

"_Once I finish with you, I'll continue on Caffrey."_

"_Caffrey was forced to be my informant," gasped the desperate lawman. "He's serving his sentence under my custody. He's not part of the agency." _

"_Don't bother, Burke. I don't care." _

_Peter hit emotional and physical rock bottom. He was left devastated. He faced enemies who again had his partner at their mercy. All the cards had been played out._

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Peter startled awake upon hearing noise. Loud voices resonated from down the hall. Drifting in and out of consciousness since Johnson's departure, he had been dreaming stark images of being back under O'Reilly's control.

"Hey," shouted Roberts. "Have you checked this corridor? O'Reilly is really bent out of shape. He wants us to be thorough. Go into each room and do a quick visual. And Joe," his friend added, "look behind any big pieces of furniture and junk."

Joe answered back. "I haven't checked this area yet. I'm heading that way now, but maybe they're hiding out downstairs. They could be anywhere in this building."

"I know," he replied. "Johnson…did you find anything?"

Peter stiffened, listening for his imminent betrayal. His heart began to race; his breathing quickened. Tension exacerbated his shortness of breath.

"No. I'll check all these rooms. If they're here I'll find them…" The voices became muted as footsteps receded in the direction away from the agent's room.

Peter momentarily closed his eyes in relief.

A short while later he heard the door to his room open. An individual approached, rounding the corner of his fortress of broken furniture. There was now enough light to quickly recognize Johnson. The young man moved past the stacks of ruined desks and mildewed cartons. Johnson faced him, holding a weapon in his hand. He moved quickly toward Peter, crouching down by his side.

"I'm afraid the alarm's been raised," said Johnson. "I was heading downstairs on my way out when I heard someone yelling." He shook his head in disbelief. "It was Roberts. He _never_ gets up early but this morning some rat," he paused, "the rodent variety, Agent Burke, not the human kind, spooked him. Since he was awake, O'Reilly must've asked him to check on you and Caffrey." The young criminal had a bemused expression on his face. "You know, since I've met you, the only luck you've had is bad!"

"A man makes his own luck," rasped Peter. "Lately… my efforts have all been inadequate."

The two men scrutinized each other.

It now took concentration for Peter to speak at all. "You said you were on your way out. Why'd you come back?"

"I don't know. My father always said he raised a fool for a son." Johnson hesitated as Peter narrowed his eyes with a questioning look. "All right. Once I realized your absence was discovered I had to return to see the game played out."

"This is a…a game to you?" Peter's anger flared.

"Poor choice of words. No, this isn't a game to me," he replied, sweeping discarded old inventory sheets aside as he knelt down. "Look. I don't want to be an accessory in your murder. Okay?"

Suddenly both men heard voices returning closer to their vicinity. Johnson motioned Peter to remain silent and approached the door. His body tense with nervousness, he waited to see if his associates would continue toward their hidden location. For the first time, good fortune seemed to favor the federal agent. Roberts and Joe turned the corridor and chose a different direction to investigate.

Peter glanced up at the man who appeared to be an advocate, at least for the moment. He had no illusion that Johnson wouldn't put his own interests first if the situation placed him in danger. For now he was grateful for the young criminal's protection.

He shifted his body to gain temporary relief from the pressure of the unyielding concrete floor, causing waves of intense pain to envelope him. Any movement, at all, set off knifelike stabs of agony throughout his ribcage and back. His overall state of affairs, encompassing bodily anguish and prolonged emotional ordeal, was pushing him close to the edge of despair.

A frown creased Johnson's brow. "I still plan to get out of here. The sooner the better," he said. "The question is what do I do with you?"

"Leave me your weapon," requested Peter.

"No," Johnson shook his head. "I may need it for O'Reilly. But I have a plan…"


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, alerted and added this story as a favorite. I'm thrilled you enjoyed "Door of Dread".

Chapter 9

Within the dark, suffocating small closet where Peter lay hidden, he barely had room to sit propped up and partially extend his legs. Leaning against the cushions Johnson had placed behind his back, the upright position allowed him a small amount of ease in breathing.

Shallow inhalations decreased the pain and shortness of breath, but the small space he occupied, combined with empty solitude and lack of light, created feelings of claustrophobia and panic. Peter realized if he wasn't severely injured or hadn't undergone O'Reilly's abuse, the situation might have been bearable. But now he was having a hard time holding it together.

Heart pounding, the wounded agent broke out in a sweat, experiencing a tightness in the throat and trouble swallowing. Dizzy, trembling and angry over loss of control, a sense of impending death seemed to strike him without warning. The special agent was in a full stage panic attack. How much longer did he want to hold on? Suddenly out of hope, he pictured the stark reality of dying alone in the dark gasping for his last breath.

Peter had always been the one who appeared in command, calm and self assured, offering the solution to each crisis. At this low moment in his life, he wanted someone to provide company. In this lonely pain-ridden place of squalor, desperate for companionship, doubts began to crowd his mind. Had Neal made it safely out of danger? Would he return in time with backup to apprehend O'Reilly? Had Johnson done what he promised? Would this door open to reveal the haunting presence of his adversary?

He closed his eyes for several minutes, focusing on thoughts of Elizabeth. Beginning to feel calm, he saw her waving to him, asking him to come home. She approached him and he reached out to touch her. Smiling, dropping his head onto his chest, Peter drifted off into unconsciousness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was only a short time earlier that Ryan Johnson, certain his compatriots were off searching for their missing captives, had removed Peter from the foul, wretched room he occupied. Lifting him up to face him, the strong, muscular man pulled Peter onto his shoulders in a fireman's carry, ignoring the agent's deep cries of anguish.

He quickly staggered several yards down the corridor, entering a small, debris-filled room on the left. Gently placing Peter down on the floor, Johnson proceeded to pull away large sheets of particle board lying against one of the graffiti covered walls.

Removal of the wood revealed a small storage closet. Undoubtedly used in the past as functional space to hold files, cabinets and storage bins, it had been stripped of everything useful including the shelves, leaving an area large enough to accommodate a crouched man.

"No one knows about this closet," said Johnson as he removed sheets of old discarded inventories. "I found it by accident one day when I was exploring rooms on the second floor. It was perfect for me to use to hide my share of the valuables," he added smugly. "A great place to keep my stuff free from my partners' prying hands. I'm going to set you up in here."

With arms wrapped around his ribcage, Peter looked up at him with trepidation. Johnson hastened to add, "Don't worry. You should be safe from O'Reilly until Caffrey returns with your friends. Roberts and Joe aren't going to spend much time searching for you; they'll want to leave once they start worrying about your partner's escape."

Peter shook his head. His breathing increasingly labored, he spoke softly, frequently stopping to catch his breath. "Stay with me … and turn yourself in. I'll do all I can … to offer you protection."

"No. I'm going to take my chance on the outside. That's how I want to play it," he answered with a half-smile. "You wouldn't understand, but I'm not ready to give up my new found wealth."

"You mean what you stole," the relentless FBI agent pointed out.

"Is law enforcement ingrained in you at the academy … or do you not _care_ I hold your life in my hands at the moment?" queried an amused Johnson.

Peter frowned at him and remained silent.

"Yes, _Agent _Burke. I want to keep what I stole. There … a full confession. Are you satisfied?"

The lawbreaker reached down and grabbed Peter under the arms, lifting him into the closet. "Hold on," he muttered and left to gather the cushions Neal had used to bolster his friend upright. Returning to the small storage closet, Johnson knelt down, pulling the agent forward to place the pads behind his back and neck.

The thief scrutinized O'Reilly's injured hostage. In the short time he had been with Peter, the lawman's condition had worsened. His continual cough, shortness of breath and gray pallor to face and lips, were worrisome signs. He reached out his hand for a moment to rest it on Peter's arm but hesitated, closing his fist and withdrawing his arm. He had no right to provide any consolation; he had done nothing to stop his gang from harming the law enforcement officer.

"You'll be all right, Burke. The authorities will be here soon." Johnson paused. "I'll call when I find a place to stop and let the police know where to find you."

Hearing that declaration, Peter was taken aback. As Johnson began to close the door, he replied, "Your father was wrong, you know."

Johnson stopped. Stunned by the agent's remark he hesitated for a moment, glancing back at Peter. Slowly backing up, he shut the door, repositioning the sheets of particle board. Walking down the corridor to head outside, he glanced back one time, trying to ignore the unease of leaving a vulnerable man in a darkened cubicle.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Neal paced back and forth outside the warehouse, waiting for permission from the local police, area SWAT team, and FBI officials to enter the building. After hotwiring one of O'Reilly's vehicles he had raced from the vicinity intent on finding help. Situated within an abandoned factory area, searching for assistance shortly after dawn, he had driven many miles before gaining access to a phone.

After calling headquarters in NYC and touching base with Jones, he had driven back to O'Reilly's vicinity waiting for local police to appear. Jones had contacted local officials, emergency medical personnel and the closest SWAT team in the area. The FBI Hudson Valley Resident Agency had been alerted and dispatched their agents to the scene. Countless law enforcement officials were providing assistance in searching not only the factory itself but local areas in the county's vicinity.

Displaying anger, worry and exhaustion the consultant had been denied access in the search for Peter. After carefully describing his partner's location within the building, he was told to wait until the area had been contained and cleared of danger. Not even numerous phone calls to the White Collar unit, talking to Diana and Jones and requesting Hughes' assistance, had gained him permission to enter the warehouse. The local authorities were adamant; he would have to remain outside.

Ben Nelson, one of the Orange County bureau agents, approached Neal. His face creased in a frown, speaking in a low tone, he said, "Our men reached the second floor and found that room you described for us." He hesitated; Neal motioned him to go on. "There was no sign of Burke."

Filled with dismay and fear, Neal pushed the agent aside and rushed to the entrance of the warehouse. Running through the entry way, he was stopped by a local SWAT supervisor.

"I need to find my partner," demanded the consultant as he fought off the official's hold. "I'm sure he's in the room where I left him!"

"Let him go," ordered Nelson. "Hold on Caffrey, we'll look together." Ripping his arm free, Neal frantically raced through the hallway and upstairs to the second floor, Agent Nelson following close behind.

Heart pounding wildly, Neal burst into the dark, fetid room where he had last seen Peter. The room was empty, devoid of any sign of having been inhabited. "He must have been moved to another area," he told the officials standing there gaping.

Nelson nodded. "We're searching every room." His radio went off and he moved into the hallway.

Neal looked down at exact spot he had left Peter. He sank to the floor in misery. Flooding his mind were images of his handler being discovered, maliciously beaten and murdered. O'Reilly would enjoy exacting special revenge for Neal's escape.

_Why did I leave you here alone? I should never have left. I wasn't here to protect your back. _Neal grabbed his head in his hands, rocking back and forth._ I did what you asked, Peter, and it caused your death. "Do what's right," you always say. Well, it wasn't worth it …_

The federal agent from Hudson Valley walked over to him, motioning him to rise. As Neal stood up, rubbing his hand through his hair, Nelson waved the radio in the air. "We just received word that O'Reilly and two of his men were apprehended a short distance from here. It was a smart move of yours, Caffrey, to disable the second vehicle before you left. They couldn't get very far—"

"What did they say?" interrupted the consultant.

"Every time the gang was asked about Burke, O'Reilly smiled and requested a lawyer," he replied, grimacing with disgust. "It doesn't look good for Burke."

Neal walked into the corridor and proceeded down the hall, entering the large room where he and Peter had been first held. He moved slowly, advancing to the back wall where Peter had been cruelly tortured. Staring down at the floor, noticing the still visible bloodstains, he wondered what words he would use to tell Elizabeth. How could he face her and everyone back in the office. How could he live with himself?

Neal stood there lost in thought for quite a long time. Something nagged at the back of his head, and he stared straight ahead, a vacant expression on his face. The cushions! They were missing from the other room. If O'Reilly or his cohorts found Peter they wouldn't have taken anything to provide comfort for an injured man. Turning to rush back to that area, he heard shouting and noise from down the corridor. Nelson appeared in the doorway.

"Caffrey! We've received a call from the local police. Someone called in a tip where Burke could be found. The person said he'd been here with him." The agent smiled at Caffrey. "Come on, we found your boss. The EMT people are with him now."

Nelson placed his hand on Neal's back guiding him forward down the corridor. Only a few rooms down from where Neal had left Peter, medical personnel were bustling in and out of the area. The consultant and agent hurried into the small room just in time to see Peter being placed on an inclined raised stretcher. Nodding to one of the EMTs, Peter looked over and spied his associate. Managing a small grin, he raised his hand in greeting.

"Hey," said Neal, briefly touching Peter's shoulder. "Where've you been? I told you I'd be right back."

"I didn't like that room you picked out," Peter rasped out. Pointing toward the closet, he added, "Our friend Johnson helped me out, moved me into … smaller accommodations."

"What happened?" asked Neal, inspecting the closet, concern clouding his eyes. "Who raised the alarm?"

As the medical team continued to check Peter 's vital signs, one of them frowned at Neal. "Let him rest. No more questions. We've given Agent Burke some pain medication. He needs to be hospitalized."

Peter grabbed the man's arm. "Just a few minutes," he answered with quiet authority. Turning back to his associate, he briefly and haltingly filled him in on the last few hours.

"Neal, I need you to contact headquarters and inform them about the situation. Talk to Diana … and tell her about Johnson. He's smart. He probably had a backup vehicle or cycle hidden in this area. When he's apprehended I want to be notified. I need to help him …" Peter's voice trailed off, his eyes grew heavy as he struggled to stay awake. "And call—"

"Elizabeth," his partner finished for him. "Don't worry, I'll take care of everything."

Neal smiled as Peter groggy with sedation, murmured one last sentence. "Thanks Neal ... you did good." Closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep, Peter barely heard Neal's reply.

"I'll be with you in the ambulance, buddy. You're not going without me." He paused, struggling to hide his emotion. "I'll always have your back," he added in a whisper.


End file.
